[Hanging 2718] Crime & Punishment

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Monica Delacore
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Thu Dec 06, 2018 9:49 pm

Crosstown Court | Dentis 2nd, 2718 | Sunrise
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The riots of Yaris had been so... unnecessary. Did the lower races truly believe themselves oppressed? It was absolutely moony to think that her fellow galdori had done anything unjustified or cruel during their time as rightful rulers of all Vita. The lower races simply didn't--couldn't--understand their reasons, and rightfully had to occasionally be punished for their wrongdoings against the rest of the world. Did they expect to riot; to destroy and attack the very nature of their gods-given system and not be punished for it?

Monica found the morning's events to be a bit too kind. Hundreds of them had risen up in opposition, yet they were only hanging three. A message to all the others, she knew, but she would've taken more... drastic actions, herself. She knew a lot of others had to feel the same, as she stood surrounded by a crowd of onlookers.

An officer of the Seventen, she was mostly there to keep the peace during the hanging, but of course was pleased to be there for more personal reasons. Even if she had been a regular citizen she surely would have arisen early in the morning to come down and see justice brought to light. There was a note of pride in the Inspector's blue gaze as she stared up at the platformed gallows; flicking across each person standing up there and taking note of their expressions.

That blasphemous sympathizer Headmistress looked displeased, as usual.

The Inspector kept to herself as the events of the hanging transpired; the three criminals finally falling to their broken-necked deaths and dragging reactions of all kinds from the crowd. The human woman beside her cried out as the purple-haired witch struggled against her rope, fighting for air and not finding it's salvation in her lungs any longer. It earned the woman, and her little child, she noticed then, a good glare from the Seventen, but no further reaction. As much as she would love to drag every filthy pest from the crowd and send them up to the gallows, she was still a righteous officer, and wouldn't dare go against the orders of her superiors.

Then the High Judge made his announcement. Monica was sure she'd get a chance to arrest at least a few ratty wicks, those damned things that clung to the back end of the crowd, but despite their cries of protest none went to move against the Seventen or the galdori. What a shame. Still, she moved, finding herself towards the back in order to quiet down a few particularly loud.

"Quiet down, wick," the galdor hissed, a dark-haired witch's sobs ringing loud in her ears, and the woman raised her head to look upon the taller Seventen.

"Dze," the woman muttered between her sobs, "havakda, tsuter brigk."

"By the gods, have you heard of Estuan?"

"Aye, I have, and it's a lot of spitch, like ye and ye cruel city."

The witch, forcing herself to stand fully upright, spit into the face of the Seventen before turning abruptly to slink away, disappearing in the crowd of unrest. Monica, now quite clearly steaming, wiped the spit from her face with disgust, and turned to the mix of other humans and wicks around her. She could see her fellow officers now dealing with the crowd, some of them starting to dissipate now that the hanging was done and the High Judge was finished speaking. His decision had been completely justified, in her opinion, but the reaction of the now-homeless wicks was no surprise.

Still. Weren't they a naturally nomadic people? Homelessness couldn't be too difficult, then, for the little rats.

"Savages," growled Monica, earning the glares of the remaining wicks and humans around her.


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Drezda Ecks
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Sat Dec 08, 2018 2:49 pm

Dentis 2, 2718, Sunrise
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It was cool and blustery and irritatingly early but there was no way that the Hoxian could miss the morning's main event.

She had been in Vienda during the riots, locked safely indoors, watching her passives with cat-like wariness as if the events outside might spur them to trouble. Oh there were those that she trusted enough but there had been paranoia in the air, a definite sense of unease that the young woman hadn't been able to shake. Needless to say, she hadn't appreciated the inconvenience of the whole thing.

A riot like this one would never have occurred in Hox - could never have occurred - and it was just another reason for her to shake her head at the way Anaxas did things.

The whole thing was a disgrace of course, a farce. Rather than doing something worthwhile about the lower races, they were making a gesture that seemed rather empty to her. As far as the diplomat was concerned, they should drive the humans and wicks from the city, possibly hurling fireballs at them as they left. The wicks could be particularly easily punished once they got those wagons. Shove a bunch of them inside and boom! The wick problem would literally go up in smoke. Instead, there was to be a hanging. Drezda was all for a hanging, but it was the fact that there were only three offenders set to swing that troubled her. It wouldn’t even make a dent. What sort of a warning was it meant to send when you could count the number to die on one hand? Yes, these ones had specifically conspired to kill a galdor but hadn't everyone involved in the riots been equally guilty? How many could have died as a result of their actions? It had happened in the past but then those galdori had been Seventen, crushed or mauled by their own chroven in the chaos. They hadn't been important enough.

If she was honest though, if High Judge Azmus had been killed, Drezda wouldn't have wept. It was the principle of the thing though.

Still, from a political standpoint, it was good for her to be here. Not only was she a witness - a prominent witness - to galdori power (although the display certainly left much to be desired), but she also had the chance to test the mood. The major players were of particular interest to her, those who had to be there like Brunnhold’s Headmistress, Ophelia, Azmus (oh how she hated that man and his misogyny), Captain D’Arthe, and other players from different parts of the political stage. It would allow her to see who flinched, who showed weakness, who was ripe for attack.

The crowd that had gathered were presumably here to see justice done but she suspected that even among the galdori, there were sympathisers here; Ophelia was a prominent example of that. There were humans and wicks here, hovering on the edges, free to attend this as if they weren’t the ones to blame in this situation. They were still free to do as they pleased and while there were consequences, she felt that they would view this and think, “If I do this, there’s a good chance that I won’t be the one to swing.”

There were also passives here. Drezda could say that with certainty as she’d brought of them with her, getting looks every time a golly went by and felt the great lack in the space. She wondered if the absence of theirs made her own field seem bigger but it was an idle thought.

Two of her passives were male, carriage boys and in this situation, something like bodyguards. They were taller than her by a few inches, broad-shouldered and strong, bearing sullen expressions as they eyed the ground and scuffed their feet against it. One of them had been left holding an umbrella, quite similar in appearance to her parasol, although meant to protect against the chance of further rain rather than the sun. Alioe’s Light wasn’t making much of an appearance yet but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t planned for that eventuality as well. Bash forbid that her ivory skin should pick up blemishes courtesy of the autumnal sun. Rosmilda stood beside her, gently twisting the parasol in her hands as she chewed her lip, glancing nervously at the gallows. The red-haired woman appeared paler than usual, her freckles particularly prominent on her nose and cheeks this morning although the wind was starting to bring red to the fore.

It was amazing how pretty the passive could look when she was worried.

The Hoxian closed her eyes for a moment, controlling the thoughts, shoving them down. Now was not the time, it was never the time in any case but she couldn't afford to think of Rosmilda like that, not like she was a person. She was just an object, that was all. She had to remind herself as heat blazed within her and brought spots of colour to her cheeks that she hoped were already red from the wind.

At least the execution offered some distraction, the legal rigmarole that went on beforehand watched by Drezda through narrowed eyes. That someone should protest was ridiculous. Okay, if they wanted to protest that more people should be done in then it made sense but to put forward a plea to spare them? D'Arthe handled it masterfully however, no one able to say anything against it then and the three were sent plummeting.

Cracks rang through the space, not unlike the sound of a whip but decidedly more organic as the bones in necks snapped. Two hung limply, cleanly killed - more than they deserved - while the third, the woman jerked on the end of the rope like a demented puppet with its strings a-tangle. Her eyes bulged, a sort of gagging gurgle emanating from her constricted throat as life struggled to remain in the slowly dying body.

Rosmilda had flinched when the necks snapped but now as she watched the witch in her death throes, she began to pant, her breathing chaotic and a light sheen appeared on her brow. Drezda pulled her attention away from the slow hanging to frown at her personal passive. The mona around her shifted, Living coming to her as she briefly and subtly touched the redhead's elbow as she leaned close to whisper curtly in her ear.

"Don't embarrass me!"

Her Estuan gave way to Monite, a spell to quell the woman's desire to vomit, calming her digestive tract which had gone into rebellion. The contact was broken, the spell worked its magic and the Hoxian eyed Rosmilda disapprovingly for signs of further nausea. Some in the crowd had lost the contents of their stomachs - galdori, she assumed - which was frankly embarrassing but at least one of her entourage wasn't among their number.

And then it was over, the woman swinging as limply as her fellows and when she checked Rosmilda again, she discovered that the girl's green eyes glistened with unshed tears. A noise of disgust rattled in her throat and the passive remembered herself, bowing her head, cringing a little.

"I'm sorry, mistress."

They turned their attention back to the front as the anti-wick pronouncement was issued. A subtle smile curved the Hoxian's lips, a minute nod of approval and agreement bowing her dark head. It was as it should be although it was perhaps too little and certainly far too late. The upset in the crowd was clear, the numbers of wicks who had drifted in amongst them becoming clear as they protested. Her lip curled in disdain, eyes flitting around as she took in their numbers.

She happened to catch sight of a blonde Seventen eyeing those around her with a distaste that Drezda could empathise with. She happened to allow her gaze to linger for a few seconds and so saw a witch spit in her face, the Hoxian audibly gasping at the audacity of it.

And the galdor did nothing!

She couldn't believe it, she really couldn't and she found herself moving in that direction, ramscott field pulsing as she marched towards the incident, forcing her followers to move quickly. However, by the time she got there, the offending witch had disappeared and she caught the Seventen's spit of "Savages."

"Yes, they are, but why did you have to act like one? You have magic and you actually know how to use it, why didn't you do anything?" she asked sharply, finding herself at eye-level with the blonde. Maybe she was as stupid as her blonde head suggested, too dull to react when an underling flung abuse at her.

Weak! What was wrong with these Anaxi? Well, this one... this one the wrongness was apparent. Her field was laden with Clairvoyant mona. How clocking useless!

If Monica's words had been unpopular, Drezda's were even more so, earning the quiet curses of those around her and filthy stares. One actually reached out to pinch Rosmilda's arm, the Hoxian catching the jerk of it, the small hiss of pain and the girl's shock before she could hide it.

Dark eyes were suddenly staring very intently in the passive's vicinity. "Who touched her?" she asked quiet, the soft danger in her voice bringing the passive's green eyes up to meet hers, horrified.

"Please, mistress, it was nothing! It doesn't- I don't matter," Rosmilda blurted, eyeing her mistress with the anxiety of one who knew her true temperament.

"It does, you aren't theirs," she snapped back. "Hold your tongue, girl! Who did that? Which of you laid your filthy little fingers on her?"

Her field sigiled, the mona moving around them, the strength of her field more than apparent, even for those who couldn't caprise it properly. Some shrank at the prospect of an angry galdor, even a coldly angered one like this. If this Seventen wouldn't do anything then Drezda certainly would. She drew Perceptive mona to her, the Monite words of a Terror spell poised on her lips, ready to be spoken if nobody stopped her or spoke up. What was more, if she unleashed it, it'd affect those in her immediate vicinity, as in this moment she didn't have a definite target.

Yet.
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Monica Delacore
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Sat Dec 08, 2018 9:26 pm

Crosstown Court | Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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Ignoring the rumbling of unspoken hostility all around her, Monica wiped at her face again with her sleeve, getting the last bit of saliva from her skin. These wicks wished to be treated equal, yet every chance they got, they just proved how truly disgusting and savage they were. Lawless, lowly creatures they were. A mass purge would do some good, at least for Vienda, but oh how she wished every one of them lost their writs. They didn't deserve the capital city and the good life it could bring them, nor did they deserve the hard-earned money from their superiors in their dirty little businesses.

A woman approaching caught her eye, mainly due to the entourage surrounding her. Dark, flowing hair, quite a contrast to her own; her appearance quite clearly not Anaxi. Great, a foreigner. She almost looked familiar, but Monica couldn't quite place it.

She gawked at the words, her field twinging with irritation at the woman's comment.

"Excuse me, I didn't ask for your input," the Seventen shot back, "I'm not dependent on magic to save me from a little rat. Would you have me castrate them right here, for everyone to see? As much as I would love to, we've enough trouble already, and I'm here to keep the peace."

Monica observed, arms crossed over her chest, as the foreigner found a new target in someone attacking her little passive. What the hell was that about? Did she need her passives by her side like this all the time? And she criticized Monica. Please. If she had passives following her every step, she'd end up stomping all over them before the day was done. Gods, they were strange.

The care she had for finding her passive's attacker was just odd; why did she give a damn what happened to the little woman? What, did she actually care about her?

Monica couldn't imagine.

"Really," started Monica, eyes catching the woman's mouth move as she drew the mona to her request, "you're terrorizing everyone over a passive?"

The Seventen couldn't help but roll her eyes, and pushed past the woman and her passive to reach the people gathered around them. She pushed a human and her child out of the way, the two huddling together and scurrying away afterwards, and grabbed at the wick that had stepped to hide behind them. Monica took him by the shoulder, pulling him down with a sudden force as she brought her knee up to hit against his chest. The action knocked the breath from his lungs, the crowd gathered about them going silent, surprised.

"Disgusting," she uttered, hand still holding onto the man's shoulder as he coughed and regained his breath. He tried to straighten and stand up properly again, but he was dragged by the Seventen, the woman then letting go to push him towards the foreigner.

"There, deal with the wick how you think I'm supposed to."

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Drezda Ecks
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Sat Dec 22, 2018 7:51 pm

Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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That any self-respecting galdor could stand there and simply let herself be spat at, wiping it away as if it was a mild irritation, like a fly that you casually swatted away. And yet the irritated pulse of her field... she sensed that the annoyance was a result of Drezda's presence rather than wick that had spat at her. By Bash, what was wrong with this Seventen?

"Thank you for pointing that out... Constable Inspector," she shot back coldly, eyes skimming her uniform to read the relevant markers that identified her division and rank: Investigative Division, three snaps. However, the woman's following words didn't do much that spoke for her intelligence, the Hoxian wondering how she had managed to rise as far as she had. Didn't Investigative Division require some ability to think in a logical way. Her words certainly didn't make sense to the diplomat.

"Well, one, castrating would be needlessly messy and unless you have some grasp of Perceptive Conversation to control them - which I doubt you can muster - it'd be rather more trouble than it's worse. Also good luck doing it with a female, not that simple. Two, you keep the peace by being someone with authority. If you let yourself be spat at like that, if you'll take it then I certainly wouldn't fear you if I were them. You don't have to sink to such bloody brutality to keep the peace but you're meant to be a bastion. Besides, it's not a dependence on magic. It's a gods given gift, it's meant to be used and in this sort of situation? Definitely," the Hoxian argued, her Estuan incredibly clipped, each word precise and flung with the force of bullets.

The diplomat wasn't angry, she was disgusted. Clock the Circle, had she really once been willing to join the ranks of this godsbedamned police force? They'd always been lacking and that had become all the clearer when she was a recruit but this... Monica was one of those galdor who squandered their magic. She didn't know what was worse, those who never conversed with the mona or those who wasted their time with something like Clairvoyant.

And then the passive was touched, her passive, her bloody property. The girl also happened to be her lover but she didn't care because of some fuzzy feelings. The girl's was her property, an extension of herself, marked as part of Drezda Ecks. If someone defaced her carriage then it would be like they'd done damage to her. It was fixable or replaceable of course but it didn't matter. It was the principle of the thing. Honestly, it was easier to replace a carriage or other property rather than a passive. Good passives could be very difficult to come by. Not that she'd expect this Seventen to understand. As if she had the money to keep a household of passives. She doubted that she even had one.

Still, when she stepped into the crowd, as tempting as it was to unleash the Terror spell in a wide arc and allow the Constable Inspector to be caught in it, she held off. It was a long and laborious spell in any case so she wouldn't have to hold it long. Even so, she murmured placating words to the mona, assuring the sentient particles that something better was coming, something more directed, something that would allow it to assert greater dominance over a single target rather than weakened by affecting multiple ones. A hand rose, index finger raised and middle finger lower than the others as she gestured, simultaneously conducting and seeming to ask it to wait a moment, something that was mirrored in her words and in her intent.

Her brows pulled together closely while she held her concentration, words slow as she extended the spell, trying not to allow the very physical display before her to distract. She wouldn't brail, not now. This spell was a nasty one, one that she had gone out of her way to learn as it was tricky but very, very useful. As she didn't want to divert her attention from the mona, she said nothing to Monica's chiding but the moment the wick was shoved at her feet, she was quick to round the spell to completion, phrasing growing more succinct but maintaining the necessary respect; it wasn't a simple rush job.

The mona moved as she willed, the diplomat swaying a little as a throb went through her head, vision blurring a little even as giddiness went through her. It hit its target hard, smacking into him like a wall as it found its way into his mind, winding its way through his synapses and firing just the right parts.

Even through blurred vision, she saw his face contort in horror, eyes veritably bulging from their sockets before he started to shriek. His breathing became a pant, hands running over his face, tangling in his hair. His hands scrabbled over his mouth, perhaps intending to stifle his screams but they didn't stay there. Instead, the man curled into a ball on the ground, hands over his head, face pressed downwards. His own field had grown erratic, panic and fear bleeding from it and even though it wasn't organically caused, it's effect seemed to spread. Those who could feel it as well as seeing the outward effect become distressed as well.

"Let 'im go, ye jent bitch! Havakda! Yer gonna make 'im go mad," a woman wailed, moving forward as if she was going to attempt to strike the galdor before she thought better of it, taking a hesitant step back, her eyes full of fear. The Hoxian gave her a small, humorless smile.

"Stop, ye chen? Ye chen?"

"Ask nicely in proper Estuan," she shot back at the wick, black eyes shifting from what she assumed what her partner writhing on the ground before her and sobbing. The spell had just about run its course in any case but they weren't to know that. Other lower race individuals had already backed away, not wanting to be caught up in this no matter how bitter they were at the situation and there were other green uniforms cutting through the crowd heading their way in any case. It was a bad time to be caught amidst galdori who were apparently willing to be brutal in this more subtle way.

"Please, miss, please. Afore- Before he goes mad or mu- stupid! Please!"

The woman's tears moved her, not out of empathy but because her magic had had the desired effect. She murmured a counterspell, watching as the madness left him, a few additional soft words of Monite added as thanks, praise before she turned her attention to Monica. The male passives that were with the diplomat had gone pale whereas the redheaded girl had begun to cry.

"It's the principle of the thing," she told the Constable Inspector simply before catching sight of the tears streaming down Rosmilda's face. She tutted.

"You two go prepare the carriage, I have a meeting soon. And you, blubbering idiot, go with them. I don't want to look at you, zjovrash!" she snapped, earning a brief mournful look from the girl before the three passives hurried off.
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Rhys Valentin
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Thu Jan 03, 2019 8:49 pm

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2nd of Dentis, 2718
​​COURTHOUSE SQUARE | SUNRISE
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This was wrong. This was wrong and no one cared. Well, maybe Commander Hanz cared. He looked uncomfortable at least. Perhaps Headmistress Ophelia as well. But everyone else? Every clocking galdor from here to Kingsway Market? They didn't give a kenser's erse that a bunch of innocent folks were going to hang as participants in a Riot they didn't even start. Sure, as far as Special Enforcement Sergeant Rhys Valentin knew, the bodies that would most likely be given nameless graves somewhere on the outskirts of the Viendan phasmonia were Resistance members, but, gods, the riot had nothing to do with the damn Resistance!

It had everything to do with wicks—

But the tall blond not-galdor couldn't even bring himself to think about that, not really. Not here.

This wasn't justice. It was a clocking publicity stunt for the High Judge and his agenda, and while the Investigative Division officer knew he was there to keep the peace and keep a watchful gaze on the crowd for additional trouble, well, all he wanted to do was tell everyone to clocking go home. He couldn't watch while the witch at the gallows struggled—not because he couldn't handle the violence of it all so much as he couldn't handle the smug look on the faces of some of his fellow officers, content in their green-uniformed high towers, looking down on everyone else, on the lower race trash who couldn't possibly hope to achieve their greatness.

Unless they were Rhys, of course. He'd beaten all of their odds and plowed his way through every hoop set before him by galdorkind, all in complete ignorance of the handicap he'd been handed at birth as a dirty halfbreed no better than half the clocking crowd.

His blue eyes chose to wander the masses instead, passing over horror and sick fascination, fear and sadness, anger and indignation. The Sergeant's attention was caught by the familiar blonde hair of Constable Inspector Delacore, chewing the inside of his cheek as he noted from his distance that there were members of the crowd harassing the other Seventen. Not that he at all wanted to offer his assistance, their views different enough and their history just personal enough to make particular interactions uncomfortable. It wasn't until he spotted another familiar figure in his idle observation instead of proper watch-keeping that he felt compelled to react, hissing a string of expletives once he realized that there was angry conversation,

"Pots, keep my watch."

"But, Val—"

"—I'll be right back." Grumbled the not-galdor, stepping from his place along one of the edges of the crowd and making his way through it, "Excuse me. Pardon me. Officer coming through." He kept his hands to himself, carefully sidestepping a few children who looked far too young to watch people hang and nearly smacking into the back of an elderly man and his small, bedraggled looking dog. It was just as he closed the distance that he felt the mona move and his eyes widened, watching Monica's forcefulness with a member of the crowd end with the Inspector tossing the bystander toward Drezda Ecks.

He couldn't hear what was being cast above the din of the other bodies pressed around him and the tinnitus that still lingered in his left ear, the claustrophobic movement thankfully not triggering any more vertigo than he'd experienced for most of Yaris after the Riot. Rhys felt the movement of the sentient particles as they obeyed the Hoxian's will, aware the woman was a skilled Perceptive conversationalist.

Others in the crowd shouted at her and the wick in the center of it all began to panic, obviously affected by a spell of some kind.

Uncaring whether he caught the attention of Inspector Delacore or not, the use of magic in a gathering of this kind against members of the general public was probably one of the most ridiculous things he could imagine permitting in the current atmosphere of the Courthouse Square. Did the Inspector give the Hoxian permission? Did Drezda simply take her moment? Why wasn't there enough protection of the innocent bystanders going on? Wasn't that their godsbedamned jobs as Seventen? As he heard the counterspell, he stepped his way through the rest of the bodies pressed so clocking close to oogle the kerfluffle and heckle the galdori involved, making sure that he put himself between the scurrying passives and their mistress,

"That's quite enough. What the clocking hell is going on here, Constable? Are we just letting members of the audience do as they please to bystanders? Are you somehow unable to keep the peace?" He glanced between the two women, holding up one hand to indicate the terrified passives should stop before he looked at the wicks involved. Out of the corner of his vision, he noted that Constable Potiphar hadn't heeded his request, his portly partner cutting his own path through the audience that had thus far refused to disburse after the announcement of revoked writs, choosing instead to linger in protest and shout their objections toward the gallows, watching the removal of bodies in anger instead of mourning.

Rhys' field—his glamour—bristled and tightened and he stood to his full height, at least a head above much of the gathered crowd,

"I want a full explanation, Inspector Delacore and Miss Ecks before I begin taking statements from every single one of these citizens." He didn't waste time and he wasn't about to mince words, clearly confused by what felt like inappropriate chaos. The fields of other wicks surrounded him and he became achingly aware of the differences between his own aura, organized and disciplined like any galdor, and theirs, so free and light. The confusion stung, his secret suddenly a hot coal in the depths of his chest, but he kept it all from his well-carved features, jaw set and playing his well-practiced role of Sergeant without a hint of faltering.​​
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Monica Delacore
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Fri Jan 04, 2019 9:36 pm

Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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Every added word that fell from the woman's mouth only added to Monica's irritation. What did she think she was? Some sort of human child that knew not her left from her right, and a man from a woman? Whatever and whoever this lady was, she was a persistent and wordy thing, and the blonde didn't try to hide or cover the rolling of her light eyes as she spoke.

"Gods, woman, are you always this wordy? Do you think I care to hear you drag on about whatever fallacies you've found in my words?" the officer questioned rhetorically, "I'm not going to take advice about my job from some random bitch, thank you."

Despite any faults she could find and voice with the rest of the woman and her attitude, her actions towards the wick widened the blonde's light eyes, her expression shifting from mild annoyance into something more surprised. She was no stranger to harsh treatment of the lower races, her knee hitting against the man's chest before had proved that, but the galdor couldn't recall ever using her magic against anyone.

"Good Lady, what the fuck?"

The mona wasn't meant for that; it wasn't gifted to galdorkind so that they could use it against each other and everyone else. It was blatant disrespect for the mona and all of the wonderful things it could achieve, to sour it so.

Gods, she hated Perceptives.

Before she had any chance to react to the situation, a familiar voice reached her ears, causing the woman to glance to the man who'd pushed into the small clearing. For a brief moment she appeared nervous, but this reaction was quelled quickly, the constable straightening up and glancing towards the annoying woman Rhys had called Miss Ecks.

"I wasn't aware that this Miss Ecks was going to use her magic to incite the crowd even more, no," gave Monica, eyes flicking back to Rhys, "I'm at fault for thinking she would be reasonable in her punishment."

As bitchy and perhaps cruel Monica was, she wasn't one that would lie to save face, not when it came to her career anyway. The Seventen was her life, and although she was aware that her fellow officers found much to be desired in her methods as well as her personality, she wasn't blind to her mistakes. That wasn't to say she wouldn't try to lessen the fall from them, of course.

"Sergeant Valentin, Miss Ecks approached me after she was apparently displeased with me for not punishing a witch for nothing. Her servant was then... pinched? That was it, right, just a pinch? And she was ready to terrorize all of us before I got the one that did it."

It was clear from her tone that the constable was more irritated with Miss Ecks' unnecessary interjection into the situation and willingness to put all of them in danger, rather than mad about any actual treatment. Monica was displeased with the fact that it would likely infuriate the crowd to levels that could've been avoided if Miss Ecks had just minded her own business and not felt the need to insult her for letting a witch spit in her face.
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Drezda Ecks
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Sat Jan 05, 2019 6:03 pm

Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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Random bitch.

It was laughable really but perhaps she couldn't expect anything less from a Seventen. They weren't exactly meant to be involved in politics were they so of course she hadn't a notion who she'd just badmouthed. Obviously this blonde was simply ignorant. It couldn't have anything to do with the fact that she held a trumped up position that was really little more than an empty title from a kingdom that Anaxas and the other members of the Symvouli considered backward. No, it was obviously on the officer before her.

Could she have this come back to bite the woman? Possibly. Could she be bothered? No, probably not. Still, in spite of her obvious dislike for the things that Drezda had to say and for her interference, she didn't seem to know what to make of the Perceptive's rather vicious spell. She'd disturbed the wicks around her, frightened many of them and it seemed that she might have done the same to Monica Delacore. Even if she hadn't frightened her, she'd definitely disconcerted her. Had she been under the impression that the Hoxian didn't have any bite?

And then who should land in the midst of it all but Rhys Valentin, stopping her passives before they could fulfil her orders. It had been awhile since she'd seen him but he still had a habit of being in her vicinity when she didn't want him to be. How long had it been? When they'd both been at Numbrey? Yes, that sounded about right. It had certainly been awhile although she wouldn't have had an issue if the time apart had been longer. Numbrey had definitely had its dark moments but before that, before they'd left school when she'd broken down before him... that was potentially the only thing that she didn't want the man to know about her. It was the only thing that she didn't want him to remember about her.

Drezda was definitely better now, her emotions in far better check at all times. She'd found private outlets to alleviate the excess steam. This here wasn't very private but then it wasn't designed to be an outlet, it just happened to serve that purpose as well. There had been a proper reason behind this. It hadn't been mindless torture or anything but she didn't think that she could have a conversation with the Sergeant about the finer details of this. Yes, she had noted the snaps on his shoulders. Same division as the blonde - who she discovered was named Delacore - but he was higher ranked. They looked to be about the same age but this one hadn't been in their year, she was certain of that.

What was that that had flickered across Delacore's face for a moment there, a ripple in her field speaking of something unsettled when Rhys arrived? Was that the situation or something more personal between them? No matter, it was no concern of hers.

"Sergeant Valentin, long time no see," she remarked dryly, clasping her hands neatly before her below her waist, gaze flicking to her paused passives who looked vastly uncomfortable. It said a lot that they were regarding her more nervously than the newly arrived Inspector. She gave them a curt little nod, signifying that they were permitted to wait and there was a noticeable relief in the three although the two men continued to shift from foot to foot and Rosmilda watched her through red-rimmed green eyes that were full of worry.

The Hoxian's expression was largely impassive as she turned her face towards Rhys, field perfectly calm, unnaturally so.

"I don't believe that I've done anything inciting. No lasting harm done, those in the vicinity appear less inclined to spit and swear at your colleague. Although I don't believe that their respect for her has increased," she explained, inwardly finding distaste in being in Valentin's vicinity. It was her field that she didn't like being near, the belikeness something that she found disconcerting, even now.

"And yes, one of them did handle my passive who did nothing to incite it. I take exception to anyone interfering with my belongings. She's technically of galdor birth even if she isn't actually galdorkind. She has the look. She could have been a galdor with a dampened field for all they knew," Drezda pointed out, raising a hand to crook a finger at Rosmilda to beckon the passive forward. The girl moved nearer, smoothing out her skirt nervously as she did so, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to dispel the evidence of her recent crying. Her gaze flicked uncertainly between the various galdori before settling on Rhys, hastily dropping it to his feet as she bowed in the Hoxian style.

"Sir, if I can assist..." she began, biting her lip, green eyes returning to the male galdor's face before skittering away. She wasn't meant to look, was she? Wasn't meant to be that familiar. Unconsciously, the redhead leaned a little towards her mistress, seeking comfort from her presence.

The diplomat released a soft shushing sound, the susurration evidently intending to soothe and calm, seeming to provide some small modicum of relief to the passive. Her gaze rose again, slowly, a long way to go above her own height as she was the same size as her mistress and Rhys was considerably taller. Green orbs settled at his throat, only flicking up higher if she was addressed directly.
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Rhys Valentin
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Wed Jan 09, 2019 9:18 am

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2nd of Dentis, 2718
​​COURTHOUSE SQUARE | SUNRISE
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Oh gods, if he'd thought the hanging was wrong, this had been no better of a choice! Rhys wasn't even sure what he'd just waded into, given the looks on the faces of both the Inspector Constable he knew, the Hoxian he also knew, and the confused, frightened collection of other races who now formed quite the strange circle while others continued to mill about as if there was any more to see when there certainly wasn't.

Constable Inspector Potiphar came up behind Monica, straightening his uniform's sash and pausing to wipe under the rims of his spectacles, taking in the comments and studying the faces even while Special Enforcement Sergeant Valentin groaned inwardly and longed to crawl away.

"You were right to ignore the witch, Constable Delacore. Everyone here is angry and scared, but a bit of frustration isn't worthy of arrest so long as they didn't express themselves in actual violence. Which they didn't." Rhys' tone wasn't even disguised in its accusation, despite how much he was also directly agreeing with Monica, which felt both unusual and necessary at the same time. It wasn't as though they needed to be at odds with each other, considering they both wore the same uniform and stood for the same set of rules, and technically they should have been representing the same ideals. But, did they?

He didn't agree with everything, however, and with a squaring of his narrow shoulders, the tall blond added with almost an acidity to his tone, his words meant to be a more verbose method of saying shame on you for what he could only see as a shitty example of what it meant to be a Seventen in public view,

"But there was absolutely no official reason to give a civilian permission to deal with a member of the public with the use of magic here in the aftermath of a very controversial execution. Now—" He attempted to wade very carefully into the story as it was told by both the women: one, someone he knew he needed to be supportive of and the other, someone he was somewhat concerned about the unpredictable nature of given all of his past experiences with both of them.

Not that he was a forlorn, angsty schoolboy anymore.

Nor was he a pining recruit desperate for distraction.

He was a grown man, one of the youngest Sergeants in the illustrious and lengthy Seventen history. Charity was not only in his home, but most likely still curled comfortably in his bed asleep. Someone on the outside looking in would have been able to say that the young Valentin had everything he'd ever wanted.

But he didn't.

"—Handling your—Good Lady! Miss Ecks, you are no longer a member of the Seventen and therefore it's not your place to dole out judgment or punishment to Anaxi citizens who are neither under your employ nor in your service. For the record, it's crowded here in the square and I seriously doubt anyone would go pinching someone who even remotely resembled galdorkind on purpose. We're not clocking idiots, we all know passives are of galdor birth, but there aren't a lot of wicks and humans wandering the streets aware of field dampening. Thank you for unnecessarily educating the crowd today, Drezda."

Pots raised his hand to interject, somewhat uncomfortable by the rather personal air that his Sergeant had with both women as if he knew them and even more uncomfortable by the racial commentary that felt oddly out of place at the moment. The blond Sergeant hadn't really ever thought about his opinions on passives, but race felt much more pressing a matter on his mind as of late. He was a wick with a Brunnhold education after all, so there was that. The lingering heat of Yaris was crawling its way through the green-dyed fibers of his uniform, sweat pooling at the base of his spine and tickling down the back of his neck. He swallowed much more frustrated words that would have definitely been inappropriate given how well he knew both of the women, and instead, Rhys heard the ringing in his ears over the rhythm of his pulse, a discomfort rising in the cavity of his chest.

Gods! This was even more ridiculous than the hanging and the tall not-galdor regretted even bothering to intervene, but someone had to clocking represent the Seventen in a way that actually conformed to the godsbedamned rules. Here he was, a wick in the same green with the same sash with his four snaps and his list of achievements, but was he truly the only one who saw clearly what was so clocking wrong here?

Rhys grunted, working quite hard to hide his mental anguish and professional annoyance at how shallow and self-serving galdori really were, aware that until just a fistful of weeks ago, he'd counted himself among them without question. The weight of that threatened to crush the breath from his lungs while he reached into his coat to withdraw a notebook and pen, only to hear the quiet voice of the passive that seemed to be Drezda's precious property. The skittish thing hardly looked at him, and his jaw clenched when the Hoxian shooshed her like some dumbersed pet. His sharp blue gaze flicked up to the dark-haired woman as if to tell her to back down, glamour bristling as he gathered it authoritatively,

"If you may what, miss? Your mistress clearly forgot that the public use of magic against innocent citizens is actually an infraction punishable by either a fine or time in jail, depending on the degree of the offense." He was flipping pages in his little leather-bound notebook, resisting the urge to gnaw on his pencil in his very unspoken distress over how things had unfolded here between Drezda, this passive, a few wicks, and Monica. Clearing his throat, he added, "Would you like to give me your statement before these Constables and myself also take the statements of the rest of the crowd we seem to have attracted here? Speak up because I'm writing the ticket for Miss Ecks while you do. I will remind you, miss, that you have every legal right to make a statement regardless of your status and race."
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Monica Delacore
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Wed Jan 09, 2019 10:21 am

Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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She didn't believe she would ever--could ever--understand Hoxians and their cold, calm dispositions. Monica was well aware of the coldness she herself displayed to the world, she knew that words were fine weapons and emotions could be misguiding, but she could never stand before a crowd as this Miss Ecks did so calmly, so collected, so uncaring of the consequences of her actions because they didn't matter to her.

Monica cared about the consequences. She was far from kind and even farther from pacifism, but she wouldn't dare display these things in a public setting such as this. As lowly and undeserving of her position as these people seemed to think of her, she was hardly a frequent offender when it came to using magic against the public or violence in a crowd.

Soft hands slipped down to straighten the roughened green of her uniform, the woman's light eyes flicking back to Rhys as she decided against speaking with Miss Ecks further. Clearly the woman was inclined to stay bitchy and find no issue in her use of the mona in such a harsh fashion, and Monica wasn't interested in any more conversation than necessary.

For a moment the Sergeant agreed with her, despite the underlying tone, and the Constable did her best to not show her surprise. She knew as well as any that the Seventen had to remain a unified force, especially in the public eye, but it was still a welcome change to be agreed with for once. She was well aware of the opinions of her fellow officers and wasn't one to pretend that any of them actually enjoyed working alongside her, but she appreciated the thought of it nonetheless.

Of course, her surprise lasted only a moment, as Rhys turned instead to question and clearly disapprove of her judgement, and Monica raised her head in an almost prideful fashion in spite of the sting. That's more the reaction she had expected from a fellow officer, and though it displeased her to do so, the constable nodded in silent acknowledgement of the man's criticism; a small twinge of embarrassment in her field the only indication of her opinions before it was quickly pushed down. The blonde could have all the feelings she liked on the matter, but she wasn't going to show any of them, not Drezda Ecks and certainly not Rhys Valentin.

The constable crossed her arms, observing as Drezda's passive servant spoke, finding her words too quiet to even hear but not bothering to try. She didn't care about what the passive said. She saw what happened herself, and in her mind, Miss Ecks was the one most clearly at fault. The fact that she was being fined by her fellow officer brought a slight amusement to the woman, a lightness in her field as her light eyes fell upon Drezda. It was only the hint of a smile that graced her painted lips, but something about her posture said that she knew she wasn't out of the woods yet herself.
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Drezda Ecks
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Sun Jan 13, 2019 4:44 pm

Dentis 2, 2718 | Sunrise
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Inwardly, Drezda found herself rolling her eyes at the young man's agreement with his fellow Seventen's actions. Had the Hoxian ever mentioned the word 'arrest'? No, she certainly hadn't and her own actions, the example that she'd set for Monica, were merely... dissuasive. It was the kind of thing that should have been done to that witch, angry and scared or not. They needed a real reason to fear, the kind of fear that made them too frightened to step out of line. That witch had been brave enough, brazen enough to spit in the face of the Seventen's authority and she had gone unpunished for it. In a crowd like this, it was easier for such actions to be picked up by others. What started as spitting and verbal abuse could easily escalate. Her own actions certainly weren't ill-advised when a line had to be drawn. This execution evidently hadn't done that.

The woman before her evidently wasn't soft when it came to the lower races, not based on the very physical violence she'd engaged in, but Rhys sounded potentially squeamish. Was he a sympathiser, she wondered? She tried to remember anything from their brief time together in Numbrey but realised that she'd never really been all that interested. Where possible, she had avoided her fellow recruit as much as possible during her brief stint with the Seventen because he had seen her at one of her lowest points and it wasn't a pleasant remembrance, wasn't something she needed to bring to his mind again for him to hold over her so she had deemed avoidance an acceptable tactic at the time. In truth, she didn't really know him at all so she couldn't judge.

It didn't mean that she didn't have disdain for him, secretly wondering if the man had more power than her in her fake position of worth. Probably. He certainly had more power in this country, greater authority although he wasn't to know it. He knew that he could punish her under the law but he didn't know that she mattered not at all. If she landed herself in some shit, even relatively minor stuff, her own government would likely be quick to cut off ties to her and simply drop her. Drezda was expendable. Her family might not be happy about it but they weren't responsible for her actions so if she did something stupid enough-

Right now, she probably sounded like a sympathiser given the way that she was speaking about passives. Galdor-born yes, but certainly not on the same level as them. Were they better than humans? Yes, certainly. Wicks? Well, they were crimes against genetic purity. Passives might well be cursed and tainted but they had at least come from outwardly good stock. Wicks only managed half.

"Thank you for pointing that out, Sergeant Valentin," she responded dryly, just enough of a lilt in her voice for it to sound plausibly genuine although her eyelids hung heavy, regarding him with icy black gaze. Well-kept brows rose, the question in her face clear, perhaps the barest touch of incredulity in her voice as she questioned, "Do you consider pinching to be a common inadvertent activity, Inspector? If you must slip through a crowd like this, do you frequently find yourself pinched?"

In spite of the tension of the situation, she watched her two male passives exchange amused looks, Rosmilda biting her lip to hide the hint of a smile. The boys might detest her but they certainly didn't think that she was wrong. While she was distressed, the female passive was genuinely amused, well aware that that very dry question was the diplomat's way of poking fun at Rhys, words quietly derisive. By the time the female redhead stepped forward though, her expression had altered, the amusement giving way to worry. The girl obviously meant that she would help by cooperating with him and giving him a statement. However, the moment he explained that Drezda's use of magic was an offence, implying that a statement could incriminate her further, the passive blanched.

"I just- I was going to- I meant-" the redhead visibly flailed, a hand raising to play with the strands of hair, her distress clear as her freckled face turned up towards the Seventen's. "I was going to offer a statement but my mistress- She doesn't deserve to get into trouble! Not jail or- She was just- The wick did pinch me, it'll probably bruise but she was just- Mistress Ecks was protecting me, she didn't mean any harm!" the passive blurted out, words pouring out while Drezda sighed and raised a hand to rub delicately at her own brow. It was bloody difficult to stop the girl when she began talking and if she tried to intercede, she had an odd feeling that Rhys would take it ill. He hadn't been amused when she'd made sounds to comfort the passive, seeming to resent her interference so she wasn't going to antagonise him now.

As if the diplomat had time for that.

Would he prefer the girl in her current state though so obviously distressed? Rosmilda looked as if she was going to start crying again, this time out of fear for her mistress and only Drezda knew the why of it. The passive always had been a sensitive little thing.

"Don't panic yourself, Rosmilda. It's just a ticket and a fine. I'm perfectly capable of accepting the consequences for my own actions. Do remember to breathe," the Hoxian murmured, addressing her servant quite calmly, her voice not as cold as might be typical. She watched the servant inhale, sucking air deeply into her lungs, green eyes fluttering shut for a moment before refocusing on the Seventen.

"I apologise, I didn't mean to become overwrought," the servant replied, calmer this time although her choice of words earned soft clucks from her male fellows, who shared a similarly exasperated looks. Obviously passives were originally galdori, which meant that they received a certain amount of education but sometimes the young woman came out with things that were a little... more advanced. Her vocabulary was sometimes a little too broad for one of her station, a little too indicative of someone who had been allowed to read more advanced material past the age of ten. Neither of them liked how the Anaxi seemed utterly incapable of speaking like a common person. She acted like a true galdori instead of half of one.

"The wick pinched me. On purpose. I didn't do anything, I didn't even bump into him, I was very careful but... I was with a galdor and I look galdori and... they don't like galdori. Not now, not-" she broke off, her gaze moving to the hanging bodies, a shiver going through her, hugging her elbows in a sign of self-comfort.

"Sergeant Valentin, I don't believe that collecting statements from everyone is necessary? If you're already writing up a ticket then presumably you've made up your own mind unless you intend to change it as you go along. That seems... unnecessarily messy," Drezda commented, dark gaze fixed on her passive, a slight frown on her face.

"I will pay your fine and accept your ticket. May I go to my meeting with Incumbent Valaris now and remove my passive before she starts sobbing all over you?"

The woman allowed her gaze to flick to Monica briefly, catching wind of some of her amusement at Drezda's expense before letting it slide away from her. She didn't have any interest in the other female, not when Rhys was the one with the higher authority here. Rhys outranked her; she wondered if it irritated Monica that she didn't have final say here.
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